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George is right in front of him. He looks happy, as happy as the day they met in real life for the first time, but now it’s for a completely different reason. It isn’t because of Dream.
He has a shy smile on his face as he stands in front of his best friends. His cheeks turn pink, and his gaze drifts to the side from time to time as he speaks. Dream knows he is nervous. He has to be. Dream would be nervous too if he was the one officially introducing his partner to the most important people in his life. He is holding Karl’s hand, the boy’s baby blue nails look brighter against the Brit’s pale skin. George’s thumb is brushing against the other’s hand, probably trying to calm the jitters. The gesture seems unconscious, much more real than whenever the brunet holds Dream’s hand.
To be fair, he had seen it coming, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. He was no stranger to the way George spoke of Karl; how his voice was filled with fondness, and how his brown eyes twinkled with a special emotion every time the other was mentioned. He had seen the emotion in his face when they all were about to meet Karl in real life. Dream had to watch several hours of clips of both boys having fun in Antarctica while he was sick. He had seen them cuddle, keeping each other warm as they ate, but he had also heard them laugh, scream, and even whisper as they walked into the tents, having forgotten the blond was even there with them. He thought about the thousands of edits he had seen about dnf, thousands of clips of George looking at him like he was the most important thing in the world. They looked so real they almost made him believe they were true, but they were wrong. They were all wrong.
Right now, he feels trapped in some sort of nightmare. His body is telling him to run away, as if that could make him go back in time, to a moment he didn’t know. A time when he still hoped George would love him back the same way Dream loves him. But he knows it is impossible, because now he knows that George doesn’t love him, he never has, and he never will. He forces himself to clear his throat; he sees the way George looks at him. It’s the same glance he throws Dream whenever he’s looking for the blond’s approval. Despite how uneasy he is feeling, he knows he has to be a good friend. He must keep being the same supportive friend he has been for the last seven years of his life for at least five minutes more, and then he can leave and cry all night in his bed. He fights back the tears threatening to leave his eyes and gives George the best smile he can manage.
“I-I’m happy for you, George. Both of you.” Somehow, the lump in his throat feels bigger with every word he pronounces. He knows he has to leave as soon as possible. George cannot see him break, because if he does, he will be sad, and all Dream really wants is for George to be happy, no matter how much that aches. He mutters some sort of excuse; he says that he’s tired, or that he has to work. He doesn’t really know. His feet are dragging him upstairs as soon as he’s done speaking. The last thing he hears is Karl telling George that the conversation went better than he expected. But Dream doesn’t know what could be worse than that. He shuts his bedroom door closed, throws himself on the bed, and only then he allows himself to feel. He wraps his arms around the ugly creeper plush George had given him for Christmas and weeps. His chest feels tight, incredibly so, he feels like his heart is going to shatter at any moment. The more he sobs, the worse he feels. The pain in his chest expanded to the rest of his body. His arms are sore from clutching the now wet plush, and his legs are numb from being curled up against his body tightly. He tries to force himself to stop crying, but that only makes him choke on his sobs and gasps even more. There’s nothing he can do but to lay there and let it all out. He’s hurting, he’s hurting a lot, but he doesn’t want it to change, not if that means stopping loving George.
He barely registers the sound of the door opening and closing, light footsteps making their way towards him in the dim light peeking through the blinds, he hadn’t even bothered to open the light when he stormed in. There’s a soft caress on his back, travelling up and down, back and forth, trying to sooth him for what feels like hours. Eventually, he calms down and finally turns around, throwing himself into Sapnap’s arms. He caresses the blond’s hair as he whispers comforting words into his ear.
“It’ll be okay, Dream. I’ve got you now.”
He sniffles loudly, but he doesn’t really care. He knows Sapnap won’t judge him for it. No matter how much he cries or how puffy his eyes get.
“H-he doesn’t l-love me.” His voice breaks again. His own words hit deeper now that he says them out loud. “It hurts so much, Nick.”
“I know it does, Clay. You have no idea.” More tears leave Dream’s eyes when Sapnap holds him closer to his chest. He wants to disappear, forget that George and Karl are right across the hall, completely oblivious of how he’s feeling.
“Oh right. Karl.” Sapnap doesn’t say anything. He is just there for Dream. He always is, always has been and always will be, caressing his back up and down, back and forth, until his friend falls asleep. And if he sheds silent tears after that, it is only between him and the darkness of the room.